


rise again

by callunavulgari



Series: Crossover Drabble Meme Collection [17]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dishonored 2, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 06:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12501184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: “You’re Emily Kaldwin.” A pause. “You are, aren’t you?”Emily blows out a loud sigh, giving him an annoyed look, as if he’s to blame for the fact that she’s the most recognizable face in all the Isles. “Might be.”“Huh,” the girl says, and takes a seat right there on the floor. “I’m Rey.”





	rise again

**Author's Note:**

> Crossover meme, this one for John, Emily, and Rey. Prompt was threesome, but I have little to no interest in them having sex, so have more street rat!Rey and another fucked up apartment.

John finds the empress of Dunwall crouched inside a condemned apartment on the outskirts of Karnaca, the grimy brick of its exterior walls painted over in bright red paint warning passersby of an active bloodfly quarantine. She’s wearing an outfit that is tailored perfectly for her body, well fitting breeches and a long, brilliantly expensive coat embroidered in gold thread. Her boots are a rich, buttery leather. Together, the ensemble is likely worth more than the entire building. He stops, startled, and nearly goes backward over the balcony before she turns to look at him. 

Emily Kaldwin has a scarf pulled up over her nose and mouth to hide the strong chin that she’d inherited from her mother, but John has been a military man since she was a girl. He may never have been among her personal guards, but he would know those eyes anywhere.

The apartment itself, while bearing clear evidence of a recent bloodfly infestation, is curiously devoid of the telltale buzzing. He raises an eyebrow at her and slouches against the window that he’d just crawled through. In response, she shrugs, seemingly unconcerned with his presence despite the line of tension woven through her shoulders.

“It was like this when I found it,” she says softly, peering carefully around the corner. “Figured I’d gotten lucky.”

“Spending the night here?” he asks, and she tenses, her eyes narrowing as her hand drops to the sword at her waist. He quickly shows her his hands, waving in clear surrender. “Woah, woah, meaning no offense. Just wanted to know if I should find another place by sundown.”

He glances at the window, where the sun has already begun to drop below the horizon. Her shoulders ease a fraction, and her hand drops away from the sword. John tries not to breathe out an audible noise of relief. 

“Might be,” she says. “Need to clear the place first.” 

“Ah.”

She shoots a glance at him over her shoulder, her gaze quick and assessing. 

“You’re welcome to stay, if you’d like,” she says, and disappears around the corner. John stays put in his corner by the window, listening as she rummages through papers and other things. At one point, he hears the quickly stifled beat of a metronome.

She returns several minutes later, her eyes finding him easily. “Empty. Whoever cleared the bloodflies is gone now. Might come back, might not. The bread’s been nibbled on, but that could have been the rats.”

“Good for us, I suppose,” John says, inspecting the sofa near him. There’s stuffing spilling out of it in places and bits of shattered resin on the cushions, but nothing to deem it unfit. Gingerly, he lowers himself onto it.

“Hmm,” is all the Empress of Dunwall says, kicking a hunk of hive out from under her boot. She leans against the wall, staring him down. Waiting him out. She has an air about her that he should have expected from an empress, quietly demanding. The hint of distinct danger he’s guessing she inherited from her father.

“I’m John Sheppard,” he says after several long, uncomfortable minutes. She looks at him, raising one elegant eyebrow and he offers, sheepishly, “I served the empire for a time. Left Dunwall when the witch stole your throne.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but after a moment she sighs and loosens the scarf around her face. When she drops the fabric to pool at the base of her neck, she’s giving him a wry smile.

“I suppose I should thank you,” she says, grimacing down at the scarf. “I hate this thing. It’s horribly stifling.” 

John smiles back at her. “Suppose it would be.”

The night passes quietly, John keeping an eye on the balcony while the empress sleepily watches the partially blockaded door. There’s a narrow gap where the wall has given way, just big enough for someone small to squeeze through. John hadn’t been concerned about it, but Emily clearly intended to be.

Rightfully so, it seems, because around midnight there’s a shuffling in the dark and a small dark head pokes itself through the gap, the body wriggling in after it. The person - a girl, he thinks - looks thin and tired, her clothes threadbare and dirty. There’s a streak of blood across her cheek. Even as John watches she sways, not yet registering their presence. 

The girl stands there, squinting into the dark before her gaze drifts down to land first on Emily, then on him. Sleepily, she stands there blinking at them before the first signs of alarm begin to flicker across her face. 

“It’s all right,” Emily says quickly, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She shows the girl her hands, a reassuring smile on her lips. 

The girl blinks at her some more. After some time, she licks her lips and says, carefully, “You’re Emily Kaldwin.” A pause. “You are, aren’t you?”

Emily blows out a loud sigh, giving him an annoyed look, as if he’s to blame for the fact that she’s the most recognizable face in all the Isles. “Might be.”

“Huh,” the girl says, and takes a seat right there on the floor. “I’m Rey.”

As John watches she pulls a round white rat from her pocket and feeds him a bit of bread. Emily’s expression twists with distaste, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s hard to remember at times that not all of the Isles shared Dunwall’s instinctive dislike for the creatures.

John looks at the girl, and when she shows no sign of moving, pulls the rosewater jellies from his pocket. He’d been saving them, but the look of childish delight on both of their faces when he offers them is worth it. 


End file.
